By 
2 Saturday nights ago I witnessed something that I thought I would never see, and yet it happened. The New York Knicks won the NBA championship in five games over a young and very talented San Antonio Spurs team.
Let me be clear about who I am first. I’m from Nyack, NY, close enough to the city to feel it, far enough to pick my own teams. And I did. I’m a Raptors fan since 1995, an Atlanta Hawks fan, and I had a soft spot for those early ’90s Nets teams because of my Aunt Tisha, and for Orlando because of Shaq. I am not, and have never been, a Knicks fan. But Madison Square Garden? That was the cathedral. Going there to watch basketball and witness greatness felt like the only way to truly experience the sport.
My dad took me to those games, one of the things he actually did right and what I saw in that building never left me. I was there the Sunday afternoon when Patrick Ewing drove, rose, and missed that finger roll in the ’95 playoffs. I felt the Garden go from deafening to silent in about three seconds. Walking out that afternoon felt like a funeral procession. I was rooting against them and even I felt it.
I was there for the Jordan years too watched him hit that baseline turnaround over Ewing, watched Starks throw down what everyone misremembers as a dunk on Jordan but was actually on Horace Grant, a debate I have been fighting on playgrounds since the third grade and refuse to concede 😅. And I watched Jordan systematically snatch every soul in that building on more than one regular season night like it was nothing.
Then there was the OJ game. Game 5 of the ’94 Finals, Hakeem in person watching another dominant big man just own Patrick Ewing was something. I was so caught up I wrapped my game towel around my arm to look like Robert Horry’s armband, which yes, was extremely corny, and I own it fully.
Then somewhere in the second half something shifted. I remember standing in the concessions line with my dad, waiting for food, and every TV in the building wasn’t showing the game anymore. It was that Bronco. And the Garden this loud, impossible, electric place, started chanting “Go Juice Go” and I didn’t fully understand why until the next morning when my father was sitting on the patio reading the NY Post, back cover up, and explained what OJ Simpson actually was beyond the football legend I’d only just started learning about a year before. He was on a good actual dad run that weekend, apparently.
And then there was Vince. Went with my Aunt Tisha, Uncle Keith, and my older cousins Collie and Gordon to see his first playoff game at MSG. He gets a fast break, takes off, and I’m screaming like a lunatic over everyone groaning around me. I didn’t care. That was my guy. I was never rooting for the Knicks in any of those moments. But I loved Charles Oakley and Anthony Mason unconditionally. I loved that building. And that’s where this lifelong love of basketball and basketball history truly started.
This was one of the more entertaining Finals we’ve had in a while, and it certainly was the blessing basketball needed, with the most passionate basketball city in the world finally winning the title after 53 years.
Of course, my prediction was wrong (Spurs in 7), but this is a moment where being wrong feels good because I get to see where I grew up and people I know who have been lifelong Knicks fans through all the ups and downs, finally have this moment that still feels surreal, honestly.
But over the years, the heckling for never “getting it right” turned to sympathy once I moved away from home, because the lifelong, generational, die-hard fans just never gave up. Despite so many self-inflicted wounds Dolan stuff and all, you wanted something good to happen to this team for once this century. And it started happening a few years ago, and here we are. And Thursday’s championship parade was what I expected, an absolutely insane celebration.
The basketball itself was just an impressive performance from the Knicks, who flipped a switch after Game 4 in the first round against the Hawks and showed no mercy. Sweeping the 76ers and the Cavs in succession with dominant close-out games got them to the Finals.
Now they did not dominate every moment of each game, but they owned the late parts of games where they would roar back to win particularly Game 4. After the Spurs had a historic shooting performance in the first half that made it look like the series was going to be tied, the Knicks mounted a historic comeback in the second half that ended with the biggest moment in Knicks history: OG Anunoby’s block on one end, leading to an epic tip-in shot that won Game 4, a watershed moment in Finals history.
Before I go into the closeout of Game 5, I have to give massive respect to the Spurs, who simply flipped the Western Conference on its head this postseason with a playoff run that was clearly ahead of schedule for most people. That Spurs core of Stephon Castle, Dylan Harper, and Victor Wembanyama may feel defeated, but they have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.
Consider these the battle scars required to become champions, and with that core being under 25 years old, the rest of the NBA and the Western Conference in particular should be alarmed. Some inexperienced moments did cost them some games.
There was a complete meltdown from All-Star De’Aaron Fox, especially in the closing sequence of Game 4, and Mitch Johnson’s young coaching career, up against the seasoned Mike Brown, led to some big leads disappearing into Knicks victories too many times ultimately costing them the title.
If Game 4 was won by a collective heart-stopping sequence, Game 5 was won by an absolute individual masterclass. Jalen Brunson didn’t just play basketball on that Saturday night, he cemented himself into the pantheon of New York sports immortals, right next to Walt Frazier and Willis Reed.
Going into the Frost Bank Center up 3-1, everyone knew the Spurs would fight like cornered animals. And they did. Just like every other game in this series, Mitch Johnson’s squad jumped out early, building yet another double-digit lead. But Mike Brown’s Knicks have spent the last two months proving they don’t panic. They trail, they absorb the punch, and then they slowly squeeze the life out of you.
Brunson was the enforcer of that squeeze. He dropped an astonishing 45 points in Game 5, capturing Finals MVP in the most undeniable way possible. Every single time the Spurs tried to mount a run or string together stops, Brunson would get to his spot in the mid-range, pivot, and hit a soul-crushing bucket. By the fourth quarter, you could see the exact moment the youth of the Spurs betrayed them.
As Coach Johnson honestly admitted after the game, they simply weren’t ready for the championship stage yet. They blew double-digit leads in four of their five losses, but Game 5 felt different. By the final minutes, a Knicks comeback didn’t just feel likely, it felt inevitable. When the final buzzer sounded at 94-90, a 53-year weight was lifted.
A Postseason for the History Books
To truly appreciate this title, you have to look at the sheer absurdity of the road the Knicks traveled. When the playoffs kicked off, nobody outside the five boroughs gave this team a real shot. And when they fell behind 2-1 to the Hawks in the very first round, the usual “here we go again” dread started creeping into the Garden.
Then they flipped the switch. What followed wasn’t just a championship run, it was a historic demolition derby. After rallying to put away the Hawks, the Knicks didn’t just win; they went on a tearing, historic 13-game winning streak. They swept the 76ers. They swept the Cavs.
They took the first two on the road in San Antonio. That 13-game tear stands as the second-longest playoff winning streak in NBA history, behind only the legendary 2017 Golden State Warriors’ 15-game run. Let that sink in. A franchise defined by decades of punchlines put together a postseason run comparable only to one of the greatest dynasties ever assembled. They won with depth, they won with Mike Brown’s brilliant defensive adjustments, and they won because guys like OG Anunoby, Mikal Bridges, and Josh Hart brought a relentless, unbothered grit all series.
As the ticker-tape fell on Broadway this past Thursday, it wasn’t just a celebration of a single championship. It’s was a multi-generational release of energy through the Canyon of Heroes. For the die-hards who survived the Dolan era, the near-misses, and the heartbreak: the wait is officially over. Bing bong.
